“Oh, wholly sound, you need have no fear of that, my dear. I paid out in good faith. What Oliver Paxton did with the money was his business and none of mine. I believed that I was keeping him out of debtor’s prison – I had no knowledge of his intention to cheat the creditors and, indeed, break the criminal law. I was as shocked as any when his defalcation was discovered.”
“Quite right too, Josh. Was it good land?”
“Not very, Sam. It included the area that now contains your pit, however, and that is now worth a little more than expected.”
Sam thought the pit might make an income of a hundred pounds a year, and that made it worth at least a thousand in its own right.
“Have we looked for any other outcropping of coal on the land, Josh? On the other side of the valley from the pit, for example?”
They had not, it seemed. Having found one seam there had been no need to search out another.
It seemed to Sam that the coal seam might have extended some little distance further, cut through by the valley when it had formed. If that was the case then digging along the opposite valley side might make sense, possibly. He would wish to talk to a mining engineer first, however. He had no experience of coal seams, himself, and did not know if they tended perhaps to take corners or suddenly dip down or otherwise disappear.
The next day took him into Stoke, visiting those of the people who considered themselves obligated to him, and who therefore, Uncle Abe said, had a claim on his generosity. It seemed a peculiar way of doing things to Sam, but if it was so, then so be it.
He paid calls on each of the men who had visited with him and Uncle Abe immediately after Rufus had died and who had effectively declared Abe to be the upright man. They were all pleased to see him, but not all were happy in their lives, it seemed.
“Interlopers, Mr Sam! Bloody outsiders what has got no business poking their noses into our little town and coming and trying to perform their nefarious acts hereabouts.”
Sam knew that Mr Pershore ran two outright brothels and owned an inn and a pair of taverns where a number of unattached young females were to be found taking their ease at any time of day or night, hiring rooms by the hour on occasion. He was also proprietor of an apothecary’s shop selling any number of remedies for various ailments, including those not ordinarily mentioned.
“What exactly are these nefarious deeds, Mr Pershore?”
Sam was not entirely sure what ‘nefarious’ happened to mean but suspected that it was undesirable.
“I almost blush to say such a thing, Mr Sam, but a house of ill-repute has recently appeared, not so very far from the church itself!”
“No doubt that will make it convenient for the rector, Mr Pershore, not having to walk far for his little pleasures!”
“This house has females only inside its doors, Mr Sam. Vicar won’t be interested in they!”
Sam was surprised – he had not heard that rumour.
“Ain’t no rumour, Mr Sam, that I can tell thee!”
“Oh well, every man to his own, I suppose, Mr Pershore. It would be a sad old world if we was all the same.”
“Very true, Mr Sam, and my good friend Mr Higginbotham provides in one his houses the services that rector needs, and a good few others of the burgesses of the town, I can tell thee.”
“Excellent, Mr Pershore. No man should be deprived of his relaxations, after all.”
“So says I, Mr Sam. But there ain’t room in the town for more places to be set up like this new one.”
Sam was inclined to agree. Mr Pershore and his friend Mr Higginbotham both paid their dues and made their little presents to Uncle Abe, but he knew nothing of a third proprietor in their line.
“Best I should have a word with the gentleman who owns the new house, Mr Pershore.”
“You won’t find him hereabouts, Mr Sam. They say he lives over in Stafford, that the old biddy who runs the house is no more than a paid hand, as you might say. The only man you will find there is the heavy who minds the door for her.”
Sam quickly decided that it might be unwise for him simply to present himself at the door and demand the name and direction of the owner. He could deal with any hard man who acted as custodian of the premises, but it might be a flagrant sort of affair, shooting him down on his own doorstep, as it were.
“Do you know who I should speak to, Mr Pershore?”
“Nay, Mr Sam. All us know, any of us, is that he be an outsider, like I said, from over Stafford way.”
“Best he should close his doors, I think. His young ladies might then be offered places in your establishments perhaps, Mr Pershore?”
Pershore thought that would be possible – he could always find room for another little earner or two.
“But what am I to do should the man send his people to argue the case, Mr Sam?”
That was a fair question, Sam agreed.
“I will ask a friend of mine, and his brother, to take a temporary residence with you, Mr Pershore. They will provide all of the protection you might need. They will also be able to discover the antecedents of any who might come to their attention.”
It was no coincidence, Sam suspected, that the brothelkeeper came from Stafford, immediately after the burglar whose activities had been brought to a sharp halt. The upright man of Stafford was seeking to expand his activities, to take over a second town. He made his way to the White Horse.
“A greedy man, it would seem, Uncle Abe. Rowlands is making enquiries of his colleagues at Quarter Sessions to see if they can come up with a name for me. That will take some weeks, the better part of two months in fact before they meet. I suspect we might be wise to make a more immediate response.”
“Close the new house, Sam, and speak sternly to the biddy who is running it and must have a name for the man who collects from her. Take a number of our friends with you, not just Jacky and Happy Henry. A dozen or so of the hardest will serve to pass a message when the old lady returns to Stafford.”
Sam agreed; a stern rebuff might be sufficient to persuade the unknown gentleman that he was acting rashly, that he should cast his attentions elsewhere.
“If he attempts to retaliate, Sam, then he must be shown the error of his ways. No half measures.”
Sam had noticed before that Uncle Abe was loath to say the actual word ‘kill’. He was giving the order that the interloper must die if he continued his unwelcome activity, but he was avoiding the direct statement. It was a weakness, Sam thought – perhaps that was the source of his spineless son’s frailty. Not to worry, Sam could provide backbone sufficient for both. He made his way to Jacky’s cottage.
“A job of work in Stoke, Jacky. One that will require a dozen or so of good men. Can you discover such for me?”
Jacky could, he had no doubt of that. He was less worried about Happy Henry now, he said in passing. Mr Sam’s suggestion of female companionship had done the trick; Happy Henry had discovered a new interest in life and was much calmer in his everyday existence. Sam was glad that was so, was beset by a sudden qualm.
“Not too calm, I trust, Jacky? Not so peaceable by nature that he will prove unable to perform those little services that have been so valuable to me?”
Jacky thought not; he would still enjoy bashing evil-doers.
“What a good thing too! Where would we be without Happy Henry on such occasions?”
“Where indeed, Mr Sam. How soon will you require the services of the extra men?”
“Three evenings from now, perhaps, Jacky? Meeting at the door of the church on Thursday at, shall we say six o’clock?”
Sam inspected the collection of hard men that Jacky had put together; he had never seen such a gruesome mob in his whole existence. Jacky and Happy Henry stood out for being dressed respectably, possessing boots, trousers, a shirt and jacket and a necktie of sorts as well as a recognisable hat, all in sober colours and within reason clean and well-presented.
Seven of the dozen were barefoot and none wore a coat. Their shirts wer
e torn and dirty and their trousers or breeches old and torn, sometimes indecently so. Most wore a rag around their necks, the remnants of a kerchief of sorts. All sported a head covering, as was only natural, no man could venture out of doors uncovered, but to call them ‘hats’ would have been a gross misnomer – they were scraps of felt or fur, held on with string or wool. All carried a weapon of some sort – heavy sticks the favourite but one had a kitchen cleaver and another sported a pair of cutthroat razors, gleaming sharp, one in each hand.
They were appalling, fit to terrorise the whole town; they frightened Sam. He dug into his pocket, produced silver coins.
“Five bob apiece was the word, I believe?”
Jacky said that it was.
“Then let us pay you up front. Sam Heythorne pays on the nob, gentlemen.”
He gave each man his money, set them in a group to listen.
“There is a house that has opened without a word to me or to my Uncle Abe. It closes tonight. The customers will be thrown out, if there be any this early. They will not be harmed, though their pockets may well be emptied, for stepping out of line. The hard man of the house, the heavy, will be sent on his way out of town, at the toe of a boot if needs be. The old biddy who runs the place will tell us every name she knows. The girls will be put out onto the street and pointed to our good friend Mr Pershore.”
They nodded, grinning; beating up a brothel sounded like the sort of work they liked to do.
“Four men to the back door, Jacky.”
Jacky pointed to his choice.
“Two each to the side windows.”
Another four scattered to their place.
“The rest go with you and Happy Henry, in at the front.”
Sam led the way, pointing to the house; he stood back as Happy Henry pushed his way in and hit the doorman once. Two of the gang, selected from those who wore boots, stood over the prostrate heavy and gave him a kicking before throwing him out into the street; the rest ran in and started to rummage the house.
Sam followed them in, standing to one side as a pair of unfortunate customers were shoved downstairs, both naked as the day they were born, and chased into the street. He winced as he heard female yells of protest upstairs; he presumed that the customers’ place had been taken forcibly by the men who had found them.
Jacky and Henry appeared, dragging a colourfully dressed fifty-year-old between them.
“Got ‘er, Mr Sam. She were sat in the back parlour, like.”
“Well done, Jacky. Sit her down.”
Jacky kicked her legs from under her, stood menacingly, shouted upstairs.
“Nick! A job for you.”
The man with the razors ran down, started laughing out loud. He was a youngish fellow, Sam noticed, a little older than himself, with a merry, ingenuous, open face, bright blue eyes and curling reddish locks. He had a charming smile, seemed a most handsome young man.
“I likes cutting old biddies, Jacky. Reminds me of my old mum, so they do – where do I start?”
“I want her talking, Nick. Don’t cut her tongue out until she’s told us what we wants.”
Jacky smiled apologetically at Sam.
“It’s what you might call Nick’s trademark, Mr Sam, leaving ‘em without no tongue to say his name with.”
The woman started to scream.
“Keep ‘im off me! What do yer want? I’ll tell you! Keep that mad bastard away!”
“Wait, Nick. We may not need your services.”
Sam pulled a pair of half-guineas out of his pocket, passed them across.
“Easiest money I earned ever, mister. I’ll go back up. The girls are being right friendly up there. All for free.”
Sam said nothing; it was not what he had wanted, but there was nothing to be done now.
“You come from Stoke, woman?”
“Yes, sir. From Mr Pankhurst what told me to run this house for ‘im. I pays ‘is man every Friday as is, gives ‘im every penny we makes, proper-like.”
“And where does Mr Pankhurst live?”
She told Sam all – who Pankhurst was and where he might be found and what he did.
“Very good! Off you go now.”
“I ain’t got no money nor nothing, mister… All right. I’m going.”
She ran; no doubt, Sam thought, she would eventually slow down to a walk. It was a long way to Stafford – she could spend the hours considering her unwisdom in venturing out of her own proper place.
“An excellent job, as always, Jacky. Do you and Happy Henry finish off here, as seems appropriate. No doubt there is furniture or such which might be taken to the pawnshop, the proceeds divvied out as seems best to you. Escort the girls to Mr Pershore when you are good and ready. Don’t burn the house – it might set the town afire. Do ensure that it cannot easily be used again for purposes that upset the peace in our little town.”
“Might be there was a bit of a cashbox thing in the room where us found the old bag, Mr Sam.”
“Put it to good use, Jacky.”
There was a piercing yell from upstairs that caused Sam to wince.
“Sounds like the lads are getting playful, Mr Sam. Best you go now.”
Sam did not know what they might be doing upstairs; he left hurriedly before he might find out.
“Pankhurst, Uncle Abe, so she said his name was. It would seem that he is a Justice of the Peace there, and a leading merchant who owns a hardware and dry goods store. He is a burgess, of course, sitting on the council of the town.”
Abe looked thoughtful.
“If he is all of those together, Sam, then he knows important people in Stafford, and probably in the county as a whole. He has friends in awkward places. Best we should talk to him if at all possible and suggest that he should look elsewhere for his extra profits. Wiser than to upset the County by putting a sudden end to his ill conduct.”
“Sensible perhaps, Uncle Abe, but how?”
“We must send a message to him first of all, suggesting that we wish to talk with him. How, as you say, Sam, is the problem.”
“If he is a magistrate, then he might be approached through the good offices of another of the breed.”
“So he might. Your Mr Rowlands, perhaps, Sam?”
“Possibly, Uncle Abe, but I have made use of him and have repaid him with a job for his wastrel son. We stand even for favours at the moment and I have no wish to stand indebted to him.”
“Wise enough, but I know no other magistrate who owes me anything.”
“Then a letter, Uncle Abe, by way of a messenger.”
“My son Thomas could carry it, Sam. It is no more than an easy ride, there and back. I shall write the missive and it can go tomorrow.”
Chapter Five
A Killing Too Far
A messenger came hammering at the front door well before six o’clock in the morning. The housekeeper called Sam downstairs, running, waiting for a tale of disaster.
The groom from the White Horse stood cap in hand, begging his pardon.
“Thou’rt needed, sir. Quick as maybe, master says. Awful upset, so ‘e be, sir.”
“Give me ten minutes to get dressed. Go to the stables and put a saddle on my nag.”
Half an hour brought Sam to the White Horse. The house behind the inn was in uproar, lights showing and curtains thrown back and voices yelling.
Sam stepped indoors, found Abe stood motionless, apparently at a loss.
“What is it, Uncle Abe?”
“Thomas, Sam. More dead than alive. Sent up here tied to his saddle. The state he is in, he cannot have ridden all the way from Stafford. They must have brought him in a wagon, put him on horseback a mile away.”
“From Stafford? He took the message to Pankhurst, did he?”
“Yesterday morning. I expected him back last night, thought he had maybe stopped off in Stoke with an acquaintance there.”
Sam presumed Thomas had a mistress in Stoke.
“He was beaten?”
“More th
an that, Sam. They took a knife to him – cut off his nose and ears and slashed him across the cheeks. They burned him as well, on the chest and back. They took hours, one injury then another, slowly. They told him he was a message to me and to you that they feared neither of us and would do as they wished and we should get out of their way. Our day is done, they said.”
Sam wasted no time swearing or expressing his horror; the obvious did not need to be commented on, he thought.
“I am sorry, Uncle Abe. I should have hunted this Pankhurst down at the very beginning of his troubling. Will Thomas survive? What does the doctor say?”
“Doctor Keith has yet to arrive, Sam. He will have set out at daybreak, I do not doubt, but his gig will take three parts of an hour to make the journey. I do not think the boy will live, Sam. He is not the strongest of lads, never has been.”
Sam could not argue that.
“Give me an hour to think, Uncle Abe. I am tempted to load my pistols and ride straight to Stafford, but I doubt not that is what they expect of me. They will be waiting for me. For the while, guards to your house and mine. And to the inn itself, thinking on it. I will send word to our friends in Stoke that we are in the throes of dealing with an ill-advised gentleman who is attempting to move into our little town and will soon leave it. Just a hint, one might say, Uncle Abe, that they should have nothing to do with any emissaries of this Pankhurst.”
Jacky and Happy Henry moved into the White Horse, to stay until the situation was resolved. Neither objected to living from the kitchen of the inn, far better than their own cooking. Jacky found two men to move into the stables’ accommodation at Banford’s house, both substantially more salubrious than those he had recruited for the last little job.
“Thank’ee, Jacky. The man Nick, I have work for him if you would be so good as to get word to him.”
“A day or so to locate him, Mr Sam. He is not easily found, in the nature of things. People are not in the way of saying anything about him.”
“Wiser to keep the mouth closed, Jacky?”
“Much better, Mr Sam. Not one to think twice before using them cutters of ‘is, Mr Sam.”
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